


In, out, long.

by ThisPeep



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Pedophillia, Self Harm, Self Loathing, Toxic Relationships, Unsafe BDSM, Victim Blaming, bad kinks, everyone is fucked up, homicidal urges, very bad unhealthy BDSM relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 09:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10434765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPeep/pseuds/ThisPeep
Summary: Jim tells an inappropriate story with purposely poor timing, and Sherlock holds him down.





	

He was young enough he had to be extremely careful about who he chose. He had to watch for the signs, see who shifted in close to answer questions and let their gaze linger. Most of them only did it to the girls. He wasn’t a girl.

It took until he only had to be relatively careful, because he was just a few years off from legal, and he let the eraser end of his pencil rest against his lips and hold his mouth open, let his hand go slow through his hair to fix it, let his long lashes rest downwards. He was doing fine in the class. Bare minimum work to get a decent grade. He was distracted a lot, to be fair. He’d taken to biting his lip when focusing. He had a lot of think about. He started bringing water bottles to class.

In the privacy of his room, he pinched some skin on his neck between his thumb and pointer finger. He’d seen the bruises people left on each other, hailed all over the internet and treated as shame on tely. He pinched harder and harder, mind buzzing agreeably at the pain, and when he finally let go there was a lovely purple bruise. It took him hours to fall asleep that night, as his fingers couldn’t seem to stop tracing it, no matter how much he concentrated on the darkness behind his lids.

He didn’t wear one of his low cut shirts. He wore a normal one. Didn’t want his target catching on by making it more or less obvious-- a casual thing, and the other children sent him a mix of impressed and disgusted looks. He sat in his usual seat, participated the usual amount, and didn’t take the usual length of time it normally took to get ready. In fact, he spilled water all over his rucksack, and deflated.

Perfect to be rescued. And he was.

“Jim? Do you want me to get some paper towels?”

Jim blinked his large eyes. “Yes, thank you. I, uh. Didn’t mean to.”

The man scurried off, and Jim bit the inside of his cheek. 

He came back, and they both kneeled down on the floor to dry things off, and Jim’s hand kept accidentally brushing the man’s. Pity.

Jim couldn’t help it, he was overwhelmed with just how much he’d ruined things, and large tears formed in his eyes before flowing down his cheeks. He brought up his hands to unsuccessfully wipe them away, sobbing loudly and vulnerably, and the man pulled him into a hug.

Jim pressed his head into the man’s chest and continued crying.

The man’s hand brushed through Jim’s hair, and Jim started settling down. He sniffed. He glanced up without pulling away, eyes red and swollen, and he didn’t close them until his teacher pulled him up and pressed their lips together.

Jim resisted the urge to smile.

 

 

“Interesting way to lose your virginity.”

Jim let out a long sigh. “You didn’t ask about losing my virginity, you asked about the first time I shagged someone.”

Sherlock almost asked, “How do you--” but it hit him in time, and he closed his mouth, swallowing thickly. 

Jim bit his lip, glancing down at Sherlock while his lashes swept through the air. “If I couldn’t feel you, I’d think you were pitying me.”

“I don’t pity.”

“I thought so before. Now I know.” He shifted up again, tilting his head back and resting his hands on Sherlock’s thighs. He found his wrists pinned pressed against the small of his back a few moments later instead, the hand clenching them the only support he had, and Sherlock pressed up sharply into him. Jim bit the inside of his cheek.

Sherlock moved his mouth to hold a slice of skin on Jim’s neck before he pinched it with his teeth. 

Jim let out a quiet whine, too soft and weak, and Sherlock’s nails dug into his wrists.

“Tell me more about how you were made.”

Jim’s eyes flashed open, expression like nothing Sherlock’d done had affected Jim at all. “I made me.” He murmured, and there was a hint of a gasp afterwards.

A thumb and pointer finger rested on Jim’s chin, easing down to open his mouth more. “Then what jumpstarted you.”

Jim giggled, and Sherlock did a sharp thrust to quiet him.

“Tell me.”

“I stopped after Carl for a long time.”

Sherlock blinked, hips stuttering, and Jim giggled harder. “You did?”

Jim nodded maniacally. “It’s only necessary if I can’t fulfill desires elsewhere. If I can, it’s just fun. I was busy setting things up.”

Sherlock pulled his hand away, circling his legs around behind him and his hands moved to Jim’s legs to hike them up, wrapping them around his waist. “What made you start again?”

“Became part of my job.” _Clearly._ Jim rolled his shoulders back, and Sherlock moved his hands to Jim’s upper arms and shifted all his torso weight onto them to keep Jim still. It hurt. Jim bit the inside of his cheek again.

“How many people have you fucked for drugs?”

“You first.” 

A hand moved to Jim’s throat, threatening to move all the pressure there instead. “Fucked, three or four.”

Sherlock’s hand got harder.

“Or six.”

Jim could barely breathe.

“Nine.”

The hand clenched iron in reward until things tinted black, and then there was air again a rush of chemicals and Jim realized just how loud Sherlock pounding into him was.

“Sucked off?”

If Jim had tits, they’d be bouncing painfully. Sherlock was bent over him, weight all on Jim’s body to hold him still and keep him captured, fucking down into him ruthlessly. “Lost count.”

Sherlock put the pressure back on his hand. 

Jim didn’t amend anything. He passed out as he felt Sherlock stiffen against him.

 

Jim woke up like he always did when Sherlock spent the night, curled up in his arms held bridal style, Sherlock sitting against the headboard and asleep. Jim nuzzled his face against Sherlock’s shoulder, thinking over the night before and sliding a hand to wrap around his erection, and got them even before he drifted off again.

He woke up to Sherlock gone. He stretched, picking up a pair of boxers off the floor and sliding them on before he rolled under the sheets and yawned. He fell back asleep.

 

 

“Do you hate girls?”

“Clearly. Have you seen girls? Overrated.”

Sherlock fixed him with a steady glare. “You resent them for getting the attention you wanted.”

Jim hummed. “I also resent them for trying to fuck you.”

“You’re blaming children for pedophiles being attracted to them?”

“It should have been mine.”

Sherlock frowned.

That was alright. Jim finished up his cup of wine and pulled Sherlock off to the bedroom.

 

 

When he woke up the second time, Sherlock was still there. And awake.

“Am I self harm?”

Exactly what Jim wanted to discuss. He stretched. “Do you like fucking me?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Jim humphed. “Am I a release for your homicidal compulsions?”

“Obviously.”

“Them who cares? I could be using to try and commit suicide and you’d still come crawling back to carve into my throat.”

Sherlock stiffened with discomfort before he got out of bed and tugged on his clothes before leaving.

Jim murmured a goodbye that wouldn’t be heard. He tugged the blanket over his head and fell asleep to the smell of Sherlock and sex.

 

 

“Come to my house.”

“You introducing me to your little brother?”

“John’s out.”

Jim minimized his window, sitting back in his chair and adjusting his hold on the phone. “What do I get?”

“Wrong question.”

It really was worth having Sherlock around. “I might be late.”

“Don’t be.”

“See you.” Jim hung up.

 

 

He was late. He’d put on mascara. It made his eyes look bigger, too big, too childlike and encompassing. 

Sherlock slipped on blindfold once they got to the bedroom.

“Rude. I put in all this effort.”

“Quiet.”

Jim fell so. 

“You want punishment? You want me to hurt you for you?”

He didn’t reply. His bones trembled. He felt the warm of Sherlock close to his skin.

“I will.”

 

 

Sherlock had decided on his house because he’d stocked up on important medical supplies. Jim was on strict bedrest for days. Trapped in Sherlock’s room.

Sherlock choked him until he passed out every time he saw torn stitches. It made Jim conflicted on if he wanted to do it more or cut it out. He settled for stopping, because there’d be opportunities in the future.

At night, Sherlock would come in and curl around him. Sometimes he said cruel things Jim craved to hear. Sometimes he said softer things that Jim was too exhausted to fight.

When there was just a day left before Sherlock would let him go, he stayed in the morning and prodded. He asked about the man Jim’d lost his virginity to. Jim was resistant at first, but Sherlock’s plain curiosity mixed with arguing taking too much energy forced him to murmur vagities.

Then Jim was released, and he went back home, flopping down onto his bed.

He grinned. The cocktail was perfected. Sherlock had been turned into the perfect drug.

**Author's Note:**

> there you go some messed up people going through life messed up


End file.
